


Five Times Hershel Layton Had Dolly Mix By Himself (And One Time He Shared It)

by RainyMeadows



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Candy, English sweets, F/M, Family Fluff, Flora finally gets the apology she fucking deserves, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Parent Hershel Layton, Growing Up, Literally tooth rotting fluff, One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyMeadows/pseuds/RainyMeadows
Summary: It's a rare treat when Professor Hershel Layton gets to enjoy his favourite sweets, and when he does, he remembers that moment for the rest of his life. Loosely tied to The Families of Jean Descole.
Relationships: Claire/Hershel Layton, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold, Jean Descole & Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Five Times Hershel Layton Had Dolly Mix By Himself (And One Time He Shared It)

Hershel interlaced his fingers between his thighs, swinging his legs around under the chair and unable to even think about reaching the floor.

“You don’t have to be afraid, darling!” His mother stroked his hair. “It’ll only be a couple of jabs and then we can go back home.”

The five-year-old whined quietly to himself.

“I don’t know,” he squeaked. “Why can’t we go home now?”

“I’m sorry, Hershel,” said Mum. “I know you’re scared, but I promise it won’t take long at all! And the doctor will give you a lollipop for being such a brave little boy!”

Hershel’s eyes wandered downward with another whine. There were toys and cardboard picture books sitting in a heap in the corner of the waiting room, stacked around a big pink and blue plastic doll house, but he didn’t want to go anywhere near them. He didn’t even want to be here, in this strange-smelling room full of people he didn’t know.

“Can’t we do this tomorrow?” he pleaded. “I want to go home! I don’t want a lollipop!”

Mum rubbed his back. It wasn’t much, but it helped him feel just a little bit better.

“Then how about this?” she said. “After we’re finished here, we can stop at the sweet shop on the way home and I’ll let you choose whatever you like.”

The mere mention of ‘sweet shop’ made Hershel’s jaw drop in wonder.

“Anything?!” he gasped.

“Anything you like,” said Mum, “and maybe we can pick out something for Dad too, as a surprise!”

Hershel swung his little legs again.

It was true that he didn’t like the idea of a man he didn’t know sticking a needle into his body, but if it meant he could get whatever sweets he wanted…

…and Mum _had_ said it wouldn’t take long…

“…okay,” he said softly. “I think we should get pear drops for Dad. Those are his favourites.”

“You know us both so well already!” Mum laughed.

And then his name was called, and he hopped off the chair as his mother stood up and took his hand.

She led him into a white and blue room that smelled even stranger than the waiting room, and he didn’t recognise the man in the white coat and wool jumper at all, but he gave Hershel a kind smile and ruffled his hair. Hershel sat in Mum’s lap and screwed his eyes shut as the first needle came out, holding one of her hands as she pulled up his trouser leg.

The jab was sudden and painful. Hershel squeaked in pain and fear.

Then another jab. He knew it was only a needle, but it felt like a knife.

And then he felt something sticky being stuck to his leg and heard Mum calling him a brave, clever little boy. It was over. Thank goodness.

His leg was sore when he tried to rest his weight on it, but as he’d already said, he refused a lollipop. Lollipops like those always made his tongue feel strange.

He held onto Mum’s hand as tight as he could as she led him out of the office and back into the waiting room, and then he had to stand and wait as she did something with the receptionist.

He hated having to wait. His leg still hurt. He wanted to _go home._

…but if they went home, they couldn’t stop at the sweet shop…

“Mum?” He tugged on the bottom of her cardigan. “Can we go?”

“One more moment!” Mum tucked her purse back into her bag. “Okay, let’s head to the sweet shop. Do you know what you want to choose?”

“…no…”

“It’s alright, darling. You’ll have plenty of time to make up your mind once we get there.”

She took him by the hand again and gently led him out of the building, and Hershel revelled in the smell of leaves and soil as opposed to whatever had been in that doctor’s office. He obediently hopped into the car after Mum opened the door for him and quickly fastened his seatbelt.

He watched the trees and buildings whizz past as Mum drove him, unable to speak as he thought about the shop. Could he get fruit pastilles? No, those always made the roof of his mouth hurt and his teeth stick together. Maybe lemon sherbets? No, they were too sour for him. He’d tried one of Dad’s once and Mum said he’d looked like a bulldog chewing on a wasp.

They pulled up outside the sweet shop and Mum let him out. His leg still felt sore, but at least he could rest his weight on it now. He took Mum’s hand and she led him into the shop.

He felt calmer the moment they were inside and smiled as he took a long, big sniff. His nose was filled with the smell of sugar and sherbet and fruits, bringing an immediate smile to his face.

Hershel loved the sweet shop so much. It was so rare that Mum or Dad brought him here! Sometimes Dad would sneak him a pear drop or a piece of Edinburgh rock when he thought Mum wasn’t looking, but that was as close as he got! And now Mum was promising that he could have whatever he wanted!

He dashed through the shelves, making a beeline for the big clear rack of pick-n-mix that towered over his head. His heart soared as he looked over his options: fried eggs, flying saucers, chocolate mice, gummy bears, fruit pastilles, red and green ropes of liquorice…

…what was _that?_

The curious Hershel forgot about his sore leg and stood on tiptoe to get a better look into the container. He could see little drops of sugar-coated jelly, colourful cubes, squares and cylinders of half white, half other colours; pink, orange, green, brown, purple, yellow…

He lifted the container’s flap and took a deep sniff. It smelled sweet, but there was something… strange about it. A bit fruity, but almost like a flower. All Hershel knew was that this smell was absolutely and unmistakably _delicious._

“Hershel?” Mum rounded the corner. “Have you chosen what you’d like?”

Hershel lowered the clear plastic flap and tapped on it.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s dolly mixture!” Mum replied cheerfully. “Is that what you’d like?”

He nodded. He had no idea what it was, but he knew he _had_ to try it.

He took a step back as Mum grabbed a paper bag and a scoop and filled that bag up with as much of the stuff apparently called dolly mixture as she could. Hershel eagerly followed on her heels as she paid for it at the counter, as well as the promised bag of pear drops for Dad and a stick of Blackpool rock for herself.

He pranced out of the sweet shop to Mum’s car and rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for her to let him in, and as soon as he was buckled up, he thrust his hand into that little paper bag and popped a little jelly drop into his mouth.

It tasted a little like a fruit pastille, but it was small enough to not tear up the roof of his mouth like those did and soft enough to chew without sticking to his teeth. He swallowed it with a smile and then pulled out one of the little colourful cubes, which was sweet and soft and…

He didn’t know what the flavour was, but it was incredible.

“Having fun back there?” asked Mum as she rounded a corner.

Hershel tried a little pink and white cylinder, followed by a brown and white square. Both were soft and sweet, but the pink cylinder had a hint of fruitiness while the brown square was almost like chocolate.

It was going to be a big challenge not to devour the entire bag by the time he and Mum got home.

* * *

“That,” Randall groaned as he stretched his arms over his head, “was PAINFUL.”

He threw his hands down and almost hit Hershel in the face.

“It wouldn’t have been anywhere near as painful if you’d just studied like I told you to!” Angela chided as they approached the school gate. “But no, big boffin Randall Ascot doesn’t need to study, does he?”

“Speak for yourself, Angela!” Randall bit back. “I’ll have you know that my memory is top-notch! I didn’t study because I don’t _need_ to study!”

“Then why did you say the exam was painful?” Hershel asked. “If you knew all of the answers, it wouldn’t have been a problem!”

“It wasn’t the exam itself,” said Randall. “No, no, no. The exam was easy as pie. I hammered out every single answer with a full half-hour to spare before the time was up!”

Hershel raised a curious eyebrow, although it remained mostly hidden behind his wild mop of hair.

“Then what was the problem?” he asked. “Why did you find the exam so gruelling?”

“It was Dierdre Priest.”

Hershel parted himself and Randall to make room as Henry fell in step between them.

“Surely you remember why she was absent last week, don’t you?” he asked, surreptitiously slipping a forgotten pencil into the ignorant Randall’s bag. “She’d caught a head cold and was feverish for three days straight. Today was her first day back after that.”

Hershel frowned in puzzlement.

“But what does that have to do with anything?” asked Angela. “She was sick last week, so what?”

Henry fixed his eyes straight ahead as though trying to bore through the ground with his gaze.

“She still hasn’t made a full recovery,” he stated. “She has a blocked nose. I know this because I sat next to her, while she sat in front of Master Randall, and in spite of her sinus troubles, she decided to pass the time until the end of the exam period by chewing gum.”

He stared up at Hershel in wide-eyed horror.

“Have you ever been in close vicinity to a person with a blocked nose,” he said, “forced to breathe through their mouth, yet having made the decision to chew gum?”

A shiver ran down Hershel’s spine at the notion.

“That,” he said solidly, “is _repulsive._ ”

“How do you think _I_ feel?!” demanded Randall. “You were sat behind me! You couldn’t even hear her, Hershel!”

“Now I’m especially grateful that I’m in a different class to you lot,” Angela commented. “I don’t think I ever could have put up with… _that._ ”

She shuddered in disgust.

“I tell you,” said Randall, “it’s a miracle that I emerged from that… that _endurance test_ with my sanity intact. One more minute of it and I swear I would have ripped that gum right out of her mouth and used it to give her a REAL nose blockage!”

“I think we ought to make a report to Mr Collins,” Hershel suggested. “Chewing gum isn’t even allowed at school. Why should Dierdre get to be an exception?”

“I can still hear it,” muttered Henry. “The hoarse breathing… the wet suction and popping of air as it fixes to and then comes loose from her teeth…”

Randall wrapped a supportive arm around his servant’s shoulders.

“Have no fear, Henry,” he said. “The two of us are in this suffering together!”

Hershel rolled his eyes. It was true that such an occurrence sounded utterly revolting, but did Randall really need to be so dramatic about it?

What was he saying? Of course he did. It wasn’t Randall Ascot if he didn’t take every opportunity to be a drama queen.

“Do you _have_ to make yourself such a martyr, Bratscot?”

All eyes turned to the right as Alphonse caught up to walk beside Angela.

“So you had a discomforting experience during an exam,” he said flippantly. “So what? You’re not the only one who was trapped beside a student who decided they wanted to be abhorrent!”

“He’s not?” Hershel frowned. “What happened to you, Dalston?”

Alphonse gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Michael Tennant,” he hissed, “passed the time until the end of the exam by listening to his Walkman at such a volume that I could _almost_ hear it.”

“Almost?” Angela frowned too. “How do you ‘almost’ hear something?”

“It isn’t difficult to understand!” Alphonse snapped. “He was seated right next to me and had his headphones on, turned up so loud that his music was audible to those around him, but not so audible that I could pick out any details. I could only hear the faint whisper of drums, the murmuring of a singer, and I came _this_ close-” He held up his thumb and forefinger, pressed together at the tips. “-to ripping it off his head and snapping the CD over my knee!”

“Oh, heavens,” sighed Henry. “That _does_ sound like torture.”

Hershel nodded. He almost felt guilty for having an exam experience that had been relatively normal, mundane, and not ear-piercing in the slightest.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Randall, jumping in front of the group and walking backwards down the road. “Seeing as the five of us have all had a simply appalling experience this afternoon, what do you say we make a stop at Lawson’s and get something sweet to wash away the bitterness? My treat!”

“Oh yes,” sighed Henry. “I would absolutely _love_ something sweet about now.”

“Randall, are you sure?” asked Angela. “I’m not sure how your father would feel about what you’re spending your allowance on.”

“It isn’t _his_ allowance, my dear!” Randall joyfully pointed out. “The moment it enters my wallet, the money becomes mine! Now, come along!”

Hershel and Angela yelped in shock as the redhead latched onto their arms.

“We need to get there before the junior school kids clear it out!”

Once he had shaken himself out of his friend’s grip, Hershel joined the rest of the gang as they ran after Randall, down the hill and through the streets and past startled parents with small children. He didn’t slow down in the slightest until he finally skidded to a stop outside Lawson’s Sweet Shop, and he darted inside before anybody was close enough to stop him.

Hershel’s throat was burning by the time he stepped inside, but the smell of the shop soothed him in a matter of seconds.

There was something innately comforting about a good sweet shop. Maybe it was the golden light that illuminated the entire room, half from sunlight and half from the lights overhead, or maybe it was the tightness and cosiness of how everything was arranged, so much smaller than when he was a child. Maybe it was the colours; pinks and blues, yellows and greens, oranges and whites and purples, laid out on shelves and in racks and standing tall in jars.

Or maybe it was Randall, dashing around the place like a child, clearly struggling to decide what he wanted to rot his teeth with.

At this point, Hershel didn’t care. He could feel his heart healing already.

He walked down the aisles, listening to his friends chattering somewhere behind him, and ran his fingers along the signs proclaiming the names, brands, and prices of the various wares on display. The common names were there, of course: Twix, Bounty, Mars, Galaxy, Aero, Crunchie, Curly Wurly (one of which was snatched up by Alphonse from somewhere behind him) and a surprisingly large shelf space given over to chocolate oranges.

Hmm…

Hershel cupped his chin in thought.

The blue and orange boxes were stacked three high and there were seven to each row, although the top row had three removed and the second row was missing one, so that added up to a total of seventeen chocolate oranges at the front of the display. But when he peered into the darkness, he could see that the boxes were stacked five thick, and every other layer was complete.

Three multiplied by seven was twenty-one, multiply that by five and subtract four…

One hundred and one chocolate oranges!

Hershel smiled to himself in pride. Ah, the joy of solving puzzles!

“Really, Dalston?”

Randall’s voice behind him cut into his post-puzzle euphoria.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, man?” the redhead demanded. “You can’t just have a Curly Wurly every single time you visit this place!”

“I’ll have you know that Curly Wurlies are my favourite,” Alphonse replied simply, “and I am nothing if not an admirer of consistency.”

“Very well,” Randall said, rolling his eyes. “I suppose I can pay for you to be the most _boring_ chocolate-eater I know!”

Hershel ducked away from the conversation and rounded the end of the aisle, faced with Angela and Henry peering around at the shelves and, on their other side, the vast display of all the pick-n-mix the shop had to offer.

“I just can’t decide!” Angela groaned. “Polo mints are my favourite, but I love Blackpool rock just as much and I don’t have a coin to flip!”

“Just take your time, Ms Angela,” Henry said calmly as he took a little blue packet from a rack. “I’m sure you’ll be able to make up your mind.”

Hershel took a closer look at what Henry had chosen.

“Magic stars?” he realised. “Henry, that’s adorable!”

“They are, aren’t they?” Henry said happily. “I understand that other chocolates come in larger quantities, but I simply can’t escape my fondness for these.”

“Okay, I’ve decided!” Angela snatched up a roll of polos. “I’m having the polo mints again! I can’t help myself!”

Hershel gave her a smile too and turned to the pick-n-mix rack.

There it was. In pride of place. That collection of little fruity jewels and gems of coloured fondant. Just opening their clear plastic container and sniffing the floral contents made his heart soar and his stomach growl.

He snatched up a paper bag and the provided plastic trowel and shovelled himself two full scoops of the colourful amalgam of sugar. Part of his mind complained at the prospect of making Randall pay for this, but it was overridden by the inner child screaming that he _never_ got an opportunity like this! And after such a strenuous exam, he’d earned himself a tasty little treat.

“Dolly mix, Hershel?” Randall appeared beside him again. “I always had you pegged as more of a jelly babies man.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint,” said Hershel as he folded the bag shut, “but I’ve loved dolly mix ever since I was a boy and I plan to love it for the rest of my life.”

Randall shrugged and snatched up a bag of his own.

“As for me,” he said as he took the trowel from Hershel’s hand, “I prefer to take the healthier option.”

He stood on tiptoe to reach into the container he wanted.

“Randall,” Hershel sighed, “just because they’re _shaped_ like fruit doesn’t mean they’re as _healthy_ as fruit.”

“No need to bring the mood down, old chum!” Randall replied as he closed his own bag. “Come along, then! To the counter!”

They met Alphonse, Henry, and Angela at the front counter, laid all of their purchases out for Ms Lawson to see while Randall dug into his wallet, and within moments they were exiting the shop with the spoils of their victory.

And as he walked down the street, surrounded by his friends, and slipped a cube of floral-flavoured fondant into his mouth, Hershel felt right at home.

* * *

_*tap tap tap*_

“Come in.”

Hershel looked up from his desk with a smile as his girlfriend entered the room.

“You’ve been shut away in here for ages!” she complained. “Surely you’re nearly finished by now, aren’t you?”

“Thankfully, yes,” Hershel replied as she approached. “Just let me finish this sentence and…”

The thump of the full stop had never felt so satisfying.

“Done,” he sighed. “I present to you, Claire Foley…”

He pulled the page from his typewriter, slipped it onto the bottom of the already-completed pages and presented it to her.

“…one completed dissertation.”

“At last!” Claire clasped her hands together in joy. “I lost track of how long you’ve been writing it! What day was it when you started?”

“The thirteenth, I think,” Hershel sighed as he set the stack down on his desk. “Thirteenth of March, that is.”

“Oh, goodness,” said Claire. “Your poor fingers!”

Hershel laughed and clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Yes, they are a little sore,” he replied. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready for a celebratory cup of tea.”

Claire gave him an amused little smile.

“I can give you something better than that,” she said.

Despite his best efforts, Hershel flushed. He could feel his face burning like the surface of the sun.

“What, ah…” He almost didn’t want to ask. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!” Claire playfully slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Come with me.”

“Why? Where to?”

“Just come with me!”

She took him by the worn, calloused hand and led him through their flat to their living room, where she sat him down on the sofa.

“Now close your eyes,” she instructed.

Hershel chuckled in confusion.

“Where on earth are you going with this?” he asked.

“Just do it!” she insisted. “Or else you’ll spoil the surprise!”

Even though he had no idea what was going on, Hershel obediently closed his eyes.

“Now open your mouth.”

Eyes still closed, Hershel frowned.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Just trust me, alright?” he heard Claire say. “I’m not going to do anything horrible to you!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Even though he was still confused and slightly afraid, Hershel let his jaw fall slack.

He heard the rustling of a thin sheet of plastic.

And then something sweet was placed on his tongue.

He closed his mouth and chewed. Sweet. Soft. Floral.

No, it couldn’t be…

“Claire,” he said, “I would have been co-operative from the start if you’d just told me you had dolly mixture.”

Claire’s laugh was music to his ears.

“But that would have spoiled the surprise, silly!” she giggled as Hershel opened his eyes. “Here. I got it for you.”

She presented him with a clear plastic bag brimming with the sweets he loved.

He couldn’t help himself. He ate another piece, this time one of the jellies. The contrast of the soft floral fondant with the chewy, sugary little pastille was a match made in heaven.

Claire laughed again.

“I had no idea you liked it _that_ much,” she commented. “Hershel, you look like the cat that got the cream!”

“Of course I do,” Hershel chuckled as he took the bag from her waiting hands. “I so rarely get to eat dolly mixture, meaning that every time I do becomes a special occasion.”

He ate one of the little cylinders. White coated in brown. It was always remarkable how this colour tasted like chocolate.

He realised Claire was still watching him, admiring his happiness.

“Um…” He turned the bag in her direction. “Do you-”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!” Claire leaned back with a raised hand. “I got this as a treat for _you,_ Hershel. I wouldn’t want to take any of it away from you, especially with how happy it makes you. It’s yours, sweetheart.”

Hershel looked back down at the bag.

It was about the quantity that he got for himself whenever he stumbled upon a sweet shop complete with pick-n-mix – it broke his heart that such a sight had become less and less common over the years – but somehow, sitting here with his lovely girlfriend, it didn’t feel right to have it all to himself.

Still, if she was insisting, it would be rude to turn her down.

“Well…” he said hesitantly. “…if you insist…”

Claire giggled again as she stood up, and she ruffled his permanently messy hair.

“Just don’t eat too much of it, alright?” she warned him. “You wouldn’t want to ruin our dinner later!”

“Not to worry!” Hershel replied. “I am nothing if not in control of my own sweet tooth.”

He had one more bite of the subtly flavoured sugar before wrapping the bag in itself and slipping it into his pocket.

He had to switch it to his other pocket when he remembered it was already occupied, and he smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs to his room to clean himself up.

Little did Claire know that he wouldn’t be the only one receiving a surprise gift.

* * *

“Hershel?”

He paused halfway through the door.

“Randall,” he said with a smile, “we’ve already caught each other up extensively on everything that’s happened to us both over the past eighteen years. What more is there that needs to be said?”

Randall ran a leathery hand over his trimmed hair. No doubt he still felt strange. Dizzy and lightheaded, Hershel expected. He’d felt exactly the same way when he’d first received a haircut that drastic.

“I, um…” The redhead straightened himself up to the best of his ability. “I want to apologise, Hershel. I said and I did a lot of things that…”

He took a deep breath.

“Let’s just say,” he said, “that the benefit of hindsight has proven more valuable than I had anticipated.”

Hershel sighed, adjusting his hat as he turned back to his old friend.

“My friend,” he said gently, “you don’t have anything to apologise for. You were as much a puppet as a puppeteer. I’d say that rather evens things out, wouldn’t you?”

“No it doesn’t!” Randall suddenly snapped. “I said and I did and I _thought_ horrible things about you, Hershel! I was horrible! I can’t believe you can even stand to look at me, let alone speak to me the way you are now!”

He wiped his eye on the back of his hand.

“I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I don’t deserve any of it.”

He hung his head in shame.

Hershel moved in closer. He rested a hand, as gently as he could, on Randall’s shoulder.

“You don’t seem to understand the situation, Randall.” He kept his voice soft and as soothing as he could manage. “Why would I care about any of the things you did after you returned? I’m afraid I’m far too busy being relieved to see you alive and safe.”

Randall adjusted the fake glasses he had insisted on wearing, trying to be subtle about drying his eyes again.

“So please don’t worry about how hurt I am,” Hershel told him, “because I assure you that I’m not.”

Before he had any chance to react, Randall leapt upon him throwing his arms around his body.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed into Hershel’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

Hershel couldn’t help but smile as he patted his old friend on the back.

“Believe me,” he said. “I missed you too.”

It was with a deep breath that Randall reluctantly released him, and finally managed a smile. Hershel gave him a polite tip of his hat and a smile of his own in response.

“If that’s all,” he said, “then I’m afraid I have to get going. I can’t keep my assistant and apprentice waiting, after all.”

“No, wait!”

Randall suddenly rushed to a nearby cabinet and whipped out a paper bag.

“This!” he spat. “This is for you!”

Confused, Hershel gently accepted the bag and unfurled its top to look inside.

It was full of dolly mixture.

“That’s still your favourite, right?” asked Randall. “I’ll feel rather silly if you’ve taken a liking to cola cubes instead!”

Hershel closed the bag again and hugged it his chest.

“Thank you, Randall,” he said happily. “I promise you I’ll savour every bite.”

As if to emphasise his point, he reached inside and popped one of the little fondant cubes into his mouth.

“Good luck, Hershel,” Randall said happily. “I’ll write to you soon, I swear!”

“And I swear that I will write back the moment I receive it,” Hershel replied once he had swallowed his mouthful of sugary saliva. “ _Au revoir,_ my friend.”

* * *

It had been a long time since he’d felt loneliness like this.

Driving back from the port, having bid goodbye to the Triton family – Luke having insisted on a personal goodbye to his dear mentor – the silence in Hershel’s ears was paralysing. He was so used to having somebody riding in the car by his side, even just listening to them breathe if they weren’t making conversation…

…to be alone again after all this time felt strange, to say the least.

London, too, seemed uncommonly quiet. Barely anybody else was driving, half of the shops he passed on his way were closed due to lack of business, and even as he drove down what was usually one of the busiest streets in the city, he only counted around four or five pedestrians for the whole length of the block.

He hated to admit that it didn’t feel surprising. The city was still reeling from the devastating attack, only three weeks ago, that had levelled more of the city than any other in its history, killed more than any other attack had killed, and all because one wild young man was desperate and blinded by revenge to the point of mass murder…

Hershel sighed. At least Clive had come to regret what he had done. Hopefully the police officers were treating him well.

And nobody would know about the woman who had walked to her death in secret that night…

If he hadn’t been driving, Hershel would have slapped himself. He couldn’t think about her now. Not when he was in traffic. Once he got home, he would have plenty of time to cry again, but right now he needed to concentrate. The roads’ emptiness was no excuse to let his mind wander and his eyes fog up with tears.

He paused at an intersection just long enough to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand.

Thank goodness Chelsea had been spared. His insurance would never have been enough to cover his home being annihilated by the mobile fortress, even if they had believed that was the truth.

But as he drove down his street towards his home, he noticed a hunched figure sitting on his doorstep.

And as he drew closer, he slowly began to recognise her.

But what was she doing here?

He pulled up, turned off the Laytonmobile and got up.

“Flora?”

She looked up at the sound of his voice.

“O-oh…” Somehow she seemed almost disappointed. “Hello, Professor.”

Hershel rounded the car and approached his door.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he asked as gently as he could. “What are you doing on my doorstep?”

Flora hugged her knees.

Her downturned eyes were unfocused.

Hershel stepped past her and unlocked his front door.

“Please come inside.” He offered her his hand. “Whatever the matter is, I’m sure it would be easier to explain over a fresh cup of tea.”

To his relief, she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

She found her way to the kitchen as he made sure the front door was locked, and once he was sure they wouldn’t be intruded on, he joined her and found her sitting at the table. She was still as downcast as she had been on his doorstep, but the chair had to be more comfortable than cold stone.

Hershel filled the kettle at the tap and set it to boil.

“Now then,” he said, and he sat down around the corner from her. “What brings you to my doorstep, Flora?”

Flora took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, and Hershel’s heart ached at the sight.

“I’m sure you know,” she said, her voice faint and quivering, “that I’ve been staying with relatives ever since I left St Mystere. Mama’s cousins, if you were curious.”

“Yes, I know,” said Hershel. “I remember well how happy they were to see you happy and healthy.”

She shifted in her seat, putting her hands in her lap.

“A-and you know,” she said unsteadily, “how you’ve been keeping me from spending too much time with you because of how dangerous your investigations can be?”

Hershel lowered his head in shame.

“I do,” he said, “and I cannot help but find my treatment of you disgraceful. Please believe me when I tell you that I didn’t ever mean for you to feel unwelcome or unwanted, and I apologise from the bottom of my heart if my actions ever caused you to feel that way.”

Flora sniffed again.

“…w-well…” she said. “…that’s why I’m here.”

The kettle began to sing, and Hershel rose from his seat just long enough to fill the teapot and cap it with a cover to trap the heat while it brewed. By the time he sat back down, Flora was wiping her eyes again.

“What’s happened?” he asked as kindly as he could. “Please, Flora. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

She tried to tidy her hair away from her face.

“I…” She sniffed. “I lived with my family in… in Greenwich.”

Hershel’s heart dropped.

Of all the boroughs damaged by Clive Dove’s attack, Greenwich had been one of the worst hit.

“Oh…” he sighed. “Oh, Flora, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t try to hold herself back anymore. She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed into the soft cotton, and all Hershel could find it in himself to do was rub her shoulder and hope it could provide some comfort.

The last thing he wanted was for her to feel alone in her grief.

Especially when he knew how painful that could be.

“And that’s why you came to me?” he asked as softly as he could. “Is it because you don’t have anybody else left?”

Still sobbing, Flora nodded.

“I know-” A hiccup cut her off. “I know I still have Matthew and Ingrid back in St Mystere, but-” She hiccupped again. “But they’re so far away and I never learned the phone numbers because I never needed to! And I don’t have any paper to write a letter!”

The sobbing that shook her body sounded agonising.

“I didn’t know who else I could go to!” she wept. “I’m so sorry, Professor! I know you don’t want me to intrude, but-”

“No, no!” Hershel rose from his chair and hugged her to his chest. “Oh Flora, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you’d suffered so much. I can only hope that you may someday forgive me for my negligence.”

She clutched at his jacket as she sobbed, her tears leaving wet stains on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, Flora,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

He should have known better, he realised as he cradled her, unable to do anything but wait for her to calm down.

He should have known better than to think he was the only person who had lost a loved one on that terrible night.

“Deep breaths,” he whispered to her. “It’s alright.”

She sniffed again. Her breath was wavering, but even, and she finally loosened her grip on his clothes.

Hershel stepped back just enough to reach the teapot and his crockery, which he set on the table between them. When Flora released him entirely, he was able to retrieve the milk from the fridge, and he poured out two cups of fresh, steaming tea.

Flora accepted hers and took a long, slow sip. Her breathing was slower and calmer once she had swallowed.

“…thank you…” she squeaked.

Hershel’s heart broke yet again. She sounded so weak and broken compared to her usual sweet demeanour.

“And without any family left,” Hershel went on, “and the rest of your loved ones out of reach, you turned to me in the hopes I could take you in.”

Flora nodded.

“I’m so sorry for just coming in out of nowhere,” she said. “If you don’t want me and you’d rather I go back to St Mystere, then I understand. I’m sure I can get enough money for a cab to-”

“No, no, not at all!” Hershel had to stop her before she could finish that terrible thought. “Flora, it just so happens that only today, I was thinking about how lonely my life will be without Luke to accompany me. If you would like to stay with me, then I would be delighted to take you in.”

She looked up at him with a sniff.

“Really?” she asked.

“Of course,” Hershel replied. “After all…”

He gave her a tip of his hat.

“It’s the duty of every gentleman,” he said, “to come to the aid of a lady in need.”

To his relief, Flora finally smiled.

“How about this?” he said. “The corner shop a couple of streets from here is still open. Once we’ve had our tea, would you like to inaugurate your stay in the Layton household by choosing some sweets for yourself?”

She sipped her tea again and gave him a nod.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice a little stronger than before. “Thank you, Professor.”

Hershel smiled in relief.

It seemed as though he wouldn’t be as lonely as he had feared.

As promised, once they’d had their tea, he drove them to a convenience store that sat nestled on a street corner, where Flora chose a big bag of flying saucers for herself and _only_ for herself.

In response, Hershel only chose a small bag of dolly mixture.

He wasn’t sure if he could stomach any larger quantity.

* * *

Since he was relaxing at home, on the sofa in his living room, Hershel wasn’t wearing his hat.

Making it all the more startling when a heavy plastic packet got dropped onto his head.

“Ah!” He gasped in shock and pulled it off to see what on earth it was. “Des, what did-”

It was a big bag of dolly mixture.

“Your favourite, correct?” asked Des. “I saw that bag while I was buying our groceries and was instantly reminded of my darling baby brother. You’re welcome.”

He gave Hershel a smug little smirk.

“Aw, Professor!” cooed Alfendi, who had looked up from his homework to see what was going on. “You like dolly mix? That’s adorable!”

“What’s dolly mix?” Katrielle picked up the bag and turned it over in her chubby little hands. “Is it sweets for dollies to eat?”

“No, no!” Flora responded cheerfully as she looked up from her sewing. “They’re little sweets and they’re delicious! Anybody can enjoy them!”

Those colours… those soft textures… Hershel knew that even when he’d only opened this bag, it would smell incredible…

So he took it from Katrielle, popped it open and immediately revelled in the sweet floral scent.

“See? See?” he heard Des say. “Just look at his face! I told you he turned into a kid when you gave him dolly mix!”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” Alfendi laughed. “Professor, you look like Uncle Des just made your whole life!”

Hershel chuckled at the comments. He hadn’t exactly made a secret of his appreciation of these little fondant delights.

Still, far be it from a gentleman to deny his family a share of that delight…

He turned the bag in Des’ direction.

“Would you like some?” he asked.

Des smiled as he pinched himself some of the sweets.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said.

“Oooh! I want some!” Katrielle thrust her hand into the bag and pulled out a fistful; good thing her five-year-old hands were so small.

“May I have a share?” asked Flora. “I can’t even remember the last time I had dolly mix!”

“You’re very welcome to it,” said Hershel, turning the bag to her. “But do try not to take too many of the pink ones. Those are my favourites.”

“Don’t mind if I do too!” Alfendi strolled over as Flora took a small share and once the path was cleared, he reached in for a handful of his own.

“Do make sure to leave _some_ for me!” Hershel complained.

“With how big that bag is?” Alfendi responded as he withdrew his hand. “C’mon, Professor! A gentleman doesn’t hog the sweets, does he?”

Hershel didn’t have any response to that, other than to very emphatically slip one of the little jellies into his mouth.

“I’ve never been able to figure out what these flavours are,” Flora commented, picking through her little handful of sweets. “Have you noticed that the brown ones taste like chocolate?”

“Hey, they do!” Katrielle shouted with a mouth full of sugar. “Daddy, why does this stuff taste like chocolate when it isn’t chocolate!”

“I think it’s just the flavouring, sweetheart,” Hershel assured her. “It’s a type of sweet called fondant.”

“Personally, I’ve always been more of an iced gems sort of man,” Des commented before popping another colourful cube into his mouth. “You can’t go wrong with a good biscuit crunch. What of you, young Flora?”

Flora shifted the colourful pieces around in her palm.

“I think my favourite is flying saucers,” she replied. “There’s something fun about eating something that looks like it’s from outer space. Plus the colours are really fun!”

She popped a purple and white cylinder into her mouth.

“What about you, Alfendi?” Des asked. “Surely a young man of your experience must have tried any number of interesting confectionaries.”

Alfendi chewed thoughtfully on his sweets.

“I did with one of my previous families,” he said. “They had a bunch of sweets from all over the world. One of ‘em was from Australia. Things called musk sticks.”

He swallowed his mouthful.

“I don’t know if you ever imagined what perfume would taste like just by its smell,” he said, “but it was pretty much that. It tasted how perfume smells. And honestly? It was goddamn amazing. If I could have one more musk stick before the end, I would die a happy man.”

He smiled as he tossed another cube of fondant into his mouth.

Des hummed in thought at the sight.

“Hershel?”

“Yes?”

“Open your mouth as wide as you can.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Just do it!”

Although he had no idea what was going on, Hershel opened his mouth as wide as he possibly could and watched as Des readied himself, took aim-

-and threw a little orange cylinder right into his mouth.

Alfendi and Katrielle cheered, Flora applauded and Des pumped his fist in triumph.

Hershel just smiled as he chewed on his sweets.

What good fortune he had that his life had become one that allowed him to share sweets with his family without a care in the world.

He hoped, in the privacy of his mind, that this happiness could be eternal.


End file.
